


The Other Wife

by laleia



Category: Naruto
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-23
Updated: 2010-03-23
Packaged: 2017-10-08 06:46:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/73832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laleia/pseuds/laleia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I married him knowing his heart wasn't mine ... Shikamaru/Temari, Shikamaru/OFC</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Other Wife

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Other Wife](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/2852) by A. Lee. 



They talk about it behind my back, why he married me.  _She was the most mediocre candidate, you know, and he always said he’d marry some boring girl._  Or, _He did it because she was a civilian, and she’d worship the ground he walks on!_ Or even, _I think he must’ve chosen her because she was so clueless – can you believe she hasn’t noticed?_

As if I hadn’t noticed my bed empty on nights _she_ came to town.

Not that I’m complaining.  I married him knowing his heart wasn’t mine, agreed to the arrangement with a smile.  He didn’t know me well enough to guess my smile was feigned.

That first night, he really _looked_ at me for the first time before he left.  As he hesitated in the doorway, I saw his face without the usual mask of boredom – he asked my permission without speaking a word.

I smiled, of course, and mouthed, “Go ahead!” before turning away to busy myself with the laundry.  I didn’t watch him leave, and I didn’t let myself cry until I lay in my empty bed that night.

Aside from the occasional lonely night, marriage to Shikamaru was hardly unpleasant.  His friends didn’t really know what to do with a civilian in their midst, but they tried their best to warm up to me, even if I didn’t _understand_ them like another ninja might.  Chouji even came over one night when I was newly pregnant and Shikamaru was with _her_.

I had just been giving in to despair as I contemplated my large, ugly self and my empty bed and my lonely house, when Chouji came in through the door and cracked a joke to make me smile.  He cooked something warm for me, and made me some hot tea, and kept me company until it was time for bed.

As he made his goodbyes before leaving, he hesitated once as if about to give a speech, and began, “You know … he-”

“I know,” I interrupted him.  “No need to worry,” I said cheerfully with a smile as I shut the door behind him.

Soon after, I had a child and even on nights when my bed was empty, the house was no longer lonely.  When young Ryuji was a month old exactly, while I was feeding him and my husband was excitedly regaling me with his life plans for our son, I turned to him.

“_She_ would like to see him.”

He did not deny it.

“Why don’t you invite her over?”  It was not a request.

The village buzzed with gossip for days.  Some dignitary from a foreign country was coming to _my_ house to see _my_ baby.  They thought I cleaned my house furiously the days before her visit because I didn’t want to embarrass my husband in front of his colleague.  It was because I didn’t want to embarrass myself in front of my rival.

We had never met before – I didn’t often go to state functions, and ninja and civilians tend to socialize in entirely different circles.  I took in her wild hair, her outlandish clothing, her easy stride and her brash personality.  She took in, I’m sure, my spotless clothing, my perfectly-groomed hair, my tidy house, and my baby in my arms.

She met my eyes without shame, without pity, without guilt.  I met hers without envy, without pride, without fear.

The two of us conducted ourselves with the utmost courtesy, making small talk about the weather, about her country, about mine.  When the baby started fussing, Shikamaru offered to put him to sleep, and she and I were alone for the first time.

And so I asked.

“Why did you say no?  When he asked you to marry him?”

“He never asked,” she said calmly.

“Because you _would_ have said no.”

She hesitated for a moment, and I could see her struggle to put to words the feelings that come instinctively to her.

“We would have made terrible star-crossed lovers,” she finally said.  “And that would have been an end result.  We come from different villages, and despite being allies _now_, Suna and Konoha could go to war at any time.  He is a genius shinobi of the Hidden Leaf; I am the best kunoichi of the Hidden Sand.  Our leaders depend so much on us; our loyalties must never be divided.  And, marriage to each other would have made us less than what we are now.  It would have weakened us in all the worst ways.  Neither of us could have afforded that.  Neither of us _wanted_ that.”

It was an odd, disjointed reply that would only resonate with another ninja who had personally experienced the conflicts of personal conscience and duty that they struggle through each mission.  I had spent enough time around ninja, though, that I caught a glimmer of understanding at her reply.

Shikamaru, with excellent timing as usual, came in three minutes later.  The rest of the evening was spent companionably.

As we were seeing her off, she turned to me and clasped my hand, a gesture I’m sure was uncustomary of her.  “I want to apologize,” she said formally, “for any difficulties I may have and may ever cause you.  If you and yours should ever need help, I am at your service.”

And that was the last I saw of her for thirty-five years.

The years were relatively peaceful, barring a few wars here and there, and a few lonely nights after all the children moved out.  The most tempestuous time, in fact, was when young Ryuji was going through his difficult years.

That was when Ryuji came home from school with black eyes and bloody noses but refused to talk about it.  That was when he became surly and short-tempered and snapped at everyone.  I would have chalked it up to typical teenage behavior, had he not begun asking questions about _where_ Shikamaru went at night.

Of course, most of the time, Shikamaru was going out on missions, which he never seemed to believe.  He even tried to _follow_ Shikamaru once, which amused neither Shikamaru nor me.

“Being a ninja is a serious thing,” I said, because Shikamaru was off on his mission.  “Your father goes to _dangerous_ places and does _dangerous_ things, and the last thing he needs to worry about is whether his son is following him!  In his world, a momentary distraction can mean _death_.”

That wasn’t the end of it, though.  He kept pushing and pushing, and it soon became clear that some of the rumors in town were reaching his ears, and it was making him _itch_ to do something.  Shikamaru was triply busy just then because of something classified, or he would have dealt with it earlier.

When Ryuji finally confronted his father about the rumors, it didn’t go well.  Ryuji’s always been impulsive, quick to anger and quick to forgive.  I’m not quite sure where he gets it from—Shikamaru and I are both more patient.  He said, “I need to talk to you, Father,” one night after dinner, and they had what rapidly became an argument behind closed doors.

He stormed off an hour in, and Shikamaru emerged with a look of resignation.  He and I both knew our son too well to think the meeting would go well, but we had hoped for a better end than _this_.  “He didn’t even stay through to the end,” Shikamaru sighed.  “Teenagers are so _troublesome_.”

Troublesome was certainly one word for it.  Ryuji didn’t return that night, and I would have stormed the streets looking for him if Shikamaru hadn’t held me back.  “Give him time to cool off,” he advised.

It was all I could do not to weep with relief when Ryuji returned the next day – Konoha wasn’t so safe that a young boy walking around by himself didn’t face some dangers.  (“Nonsense,” Shikamaru had said when I told him this.  “When I was his age, I was off fighting unknowns in uncharted regions already.”  I tactfully didn’t point out that Ryuji was a civilian growing up in peacetime – not a ninja growing up amidst war.)

Ryuji remained surly and short-tempered, snapping at Shikamaru often, and insolent in temperament.  I wanted to confront him about it, but Shikamaru counseled me otherwise.

“He just needs to work through it on his own,” Shikamaru advised.  “Lecturing him will just provoke him.”

I knew he was right – I knew my son well, after all – but Ryuji’s continued bad attitude made it difficult to be patient.  Akiko, at least, didn’t seem to notice anything wrong with her older brother – I’m sure she assumed his temper was just a phase teenagers went through.

She would have been right.  It was just a phase, and I’m sure he would have gotten over his bad attitude in a few weeks had he not been offered an opportunity to throw a public tantrum.

You see, whatever Shikamaru’s classified business had been, he seemed to have done remarkably well, and we had the distinct honor of having the Rokudaime over for lunch.  Halfway through dinner, when the Hokage was just reminiscing with Shikamaru about genin days past, when her team had still been alive, Ryuji slammed down his cup.

“Are you really going to _honor_ this man?” he demanded.  I narrowed my eyes.  Surely he wouldn’t-

“This man broke his oath to his wife!  He leaves at night to sleep with _whores_ while his wife stupidly waits at home, _oblivious_ to the deception, to the-”

_ Slap_.

“Just because you’re taller than me,” (which he has been since he turned fourteen—I’m not very tall), “doesn’t mean I can’t _spank_ you.”

“But he-”

“I am your _mother_ – do not _refer_ to me as stupid.  You will show me respect.”

“But-”

“Your father _also_ deserves your respect, _not_ your abuse.  He has broken no oath and done no dishonor.”

“But he-”

“Further, Sabaku no Temari is most certainly _not_ a whore, and she could break your neck with her little finger, so I would advise you _not_ to repeat your words in her presence.”

My son was plainly bewildered now.  “You-”

“Now I suggest you go to your room before you embarrass me any further.”  The look I shot him hadn’t been terribly effective since his voice dropped two octaves, but this time it certainly cowed him.

“Yes, mother,” he said, and did as he was told.

Next moment, I remembered the other witness of this family drama.  “Hokage-sama,” I gasped.  “I’m so sorry you had to witness this,” I said, flustered.  “I’ll make sure-”

“Don’t worry about it,” the Hokage said warmly.  “Shikamaru, perhaps you should go speak with your son?”  It was not a suggestion.

And so I found myself under the full weight of the gaze of the Rokudaime for the first time in my life.

“I wondered for a long time why Shikamaru chose you,” she observed, tucking a strand of pink hair behind her ear.  “I think I finally understand why.”

“Then would you care to enlighten me, Hokage-sama?” I asked dryly.  “It’s something he’s certainly never bothered to explain to _me_.”

“It is because you are strong enough,” she observed.

Her words stayed with me, even after she died five years later, sacrificing her life for the sake of her village, as with most in her profession.  Five years after that, my husband followed.  I mourned him, and grieved, but death is a daily part of a shinobi’s life.  I was expecting it by then.

 

Long after, when both my children had given me grandchildren and seemed like they weren’t going to die anytime soon, I traveled outside of Konoha for the first and only time of my life.

I traveled to Sunakagure and had tea with the unmarried Princess of Suna who had survived both her brothers.  She was older now, with more wrinkles, but her every movement still spoke of strength.  We made small talk about the weather, about her country, about mine.

Eventually, as inevitably happens with the elderly, we came to speak of the dead.  So many of Shikamaru’s ninja friends that I had come to know – dead.  She too had watched one shinobi after the next die while she grimly fought to survive.  Even though we came from vastly different backgrounds, death was something we both knew.

And of course, we ended up speaking of _him_.  She broached the subject first, fearless.

“He worried about you a great deal, you know.  He worried that he asked too much of you.”

“I think that’s why he gave me the children – to keep me occupied.”

“Do you want more tea?”

“Oh, yes, please.”

“I hated sharing him, you know.  Secretly resented that he was rightfully and legally yours – I can be a very jealous person.”

“Do you regret not marrying him?”

“No, I have no regrets.  I’m not sure we did it for the best reasons, but I think it worked out for the best anyways.  I wouldn’t have made a very good wife, and I don’t think he would have made a very good husband.  I wouldn’t leave the desert for the world – and he wouldn’t have been able to abide it.  And then, there’s the ever-present threat of war.  It would have been … troublesome.”

We exchanged eyerolls at the word.

I broke the silence first.  “I’m dying.  The finest medic-nin my son could find has given me three months at the least, a year at the most.  I came because I had a final offer.”

Temari waited for me to speak.

“Arrangements have long been made.  When I die, I will be buried at his side.  But – he has two sides.  I can make my own arrangements and see to it that you have a place, too.”

The words didn’t choke coming out as I thought they might.  I didn’t make this offer because I was magnanimous or because I particularly liked this woman that my husband had loved.  I did it because Shikamaru might have wanted it, and when you get older, the dead often seem more real than the living. 

This time, I waited for _her_ to speak.

“I’ve always found the Leaf custom of burial curious,” Temari observed, after a moment of silence.  “Here, we cremate.  Bodies do not stay buried when the wind blows the sand as it will.  I could not imagine my body being buried _anywhere_.”

She clasped my hand in hers.

“But I would appreciate if some of my ashes could be scattered over your graves.”  Nobody would ever describe Temari as vulnerable, and even when making this request, her face seemed implacable.  Nevertheless, I could tell how much of herself she put in this formal, stilted statement.

“But of course,” I said readily, the words slipping out before I realized. 

This silence stretched longer than the last.

“You know, I used to wonder why he chose me,” I mused.  “Out of all the civilian girls, why _me_?”

“He didn’t choose you; I did,” Temari said, surprised.  “Didn’t you know?”

I blinked.  “What?”

 “We were having an argument about … well, about the arrangement that would be, and he said I could choose, and I declared I didn’t care if it was the next person to turn the corner – that was you.”

I laughed.  “So the mystery is solved.”

“It doesn’t matter why he chose you,” Temari dismissed.  “All that matters is why you agreed when you heard the terms of the arrangement.  And if you’ll approach death with any regrets.”

I thought back to the life I might have led, with a husband who loved me and children who behaved and friends who still lived.  But I could equally have ended up with a man who squandered money, or drank too much, or made unreasonable demands.

And then I thought of Shikamaru, who was always respectful.  I remembered the look of wonder on his face when he saw Ryuji for the first time – a look that he shared with me.  I thought of Ryuji and Akiko and how I wouldn’t trade them from anyone or anything in the world.

“No, no regrets.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is a slightly-edited version of a much-revised version of a fanfic I wrote back in 2006.


End file.
